“There is if I do not agree.”
Folly cleared his throat.
William glanced at him, still frowning.
“I sort of promised her she could come, at least for part of the evening.”
William’s brows shot toward his hairline.
“What? Why? How?”
“’Tis something of a long story. I’m happy to discuss it some other time than lingering in your front hall,” his friend said sheepishly. “Obviously, ’tis a moot point now, as we need to find South.”
“What? No. I can help,” Emily pleaded, her focus on Folly.
“No.” Both men spoke at the same time.
Folly added, “If we find him quickly, we’ll come back here. But if we’re not back in an hour, we aren’t coming.” He turned to William. “Does that sound fair?”
“Depends on what state we find South in,” he muttered.
They left Emily pouting. South was not at his family’s London residence, nor was he at the first four gaming hells they tried. After trying his haunts in St. James and Soho, they edged their way into the seedier parts of London. They now tread closer and closer to the Limehouse canal, its odor intensifying as they neared.
Folly asked, “Could South return to Oxford to finish his studies?”
“I don’t know for sure. I suspect within a reasonable amount of time, as an earl’s son he could manage it. But he always needed my help with classwork. I know he didn’t enjoy his time there, but he was almost finished. I just don’t understand.”
“What do you think put him over the top?”
“I don’t know. I’d been frustrated with his drinking, and his behavior was similar enough to my father’s, that I did what I do with my father—I distanced myself. As his friend, I should have at least stepped in and offered to listen, to support him.” William was chastising himself with every minute they couldn’t find South.
At the last venue, they’d discovered South’s London friends called him by a different moniker. Spinning off his last name of Lynwood, they’d dubbed him “Lyon.” Thus, William and Folly would need to double back and ask for Lyon at a few places. William suspected his friend was at a less clean, less honest joint, though. He’d hoped South would take some time at home to regroup and find his path, but the unkempt, thinly-staffed townhouse had appeared as though he’d continued on with self-destruction.
Finally, at two o-clock in the morning, they found him sagging in the corner of a gaming hell, propped there by a member of the staff until he slept it off. Piling him into a hack cab, they took him home, dropping Folly at his forge on the way, as his workday started earlier than William’s.
* * * *
The morning after his friends surprised him, his mother informed him they were attending a ball that evening.
Already impatient to see his Mistress, he ground his teeth. He scribbled a note to Charlotte asking if she planned to attend and requesting permission to call on her after. Then he went to change, starting with a frayed ribbon, faded from being washed this past year.
He stood with Percy as usual, as his cousin and cronies exchanged stories. Percy was a listener much more than a contributor these days, and their plan was for him to attend a few balls to smooth the transition to William as the family representative to their allies in Parliament. William was glad that he had spent the time learning how to navigate balls last summer, no matter how boring he found them. At least now he knew how long he needed to stay, and for the most part, who he needed to visit with. Besides, he could not hate them entirely.
If not for these blasted balls, I might not have met my Mistress.
The mere thought tightened the ribbon he wore under his trousers. He’d tried wearing it at university, but the friction was too distracting. Washing also dulled the sheen which he wanted to preserve. Instead, he kept the folded length of ivory in his pocket and took it out to run through his fingers as he studied. Holding the satin, he could still remember the hot silken glide of her grip around him before she tied it. Tonight, hoping to see her at the ball, he had chosen to wear it with a plan to tell her or even show her.
He glanced around, hoping to spot her. He had not received a reply to his note, but hadn’t expected to, so had no way of knowing if she had a prior engagement or, worse, a new suitor. Pain stabbed him in the chest as he considered the idea of her being wooed by someone else.
No. She had written to him less than two months prior. He was relatively sure that she would not have sent him any response if she had moved on. Of course, he still needed to convince her of that fact.
There was no forced end date for a dalliance now, and no reason they had to hide, at least to his thinking. His father was fifty, he had plenty of time to woo Charlotte, wed her, and finish mastering the nuances of the earldom. For the most part, he was ready to don the mantle of the earl’s responsibilities aside from the title and give Percy and his mother a bit more sleep once he’d caught up on this year’s Parliamentary issues, negotiations, and alliances. His mother might balk at his choice of Charlotte, but they had time to overcome that, too. For the first time since putting the pencil down after his last exam, he was excited. He had his whole life ahead of him, and a plan for it.
Convincing Charlotte would be tricky. Despite the fact that he’d reached his majority, he had no doubt she was still preoccupied with the age difference. He hadn’t figured out a plan to change her mind yet, but he would persist, asArs amatoriarecommended. He smiled to himself. It had worked thus far, in multiple ways—letter writing, sex games. It would work for this. It had to.
He did not see her. Turning back, his mother caught his eye as she conversed with a younger matron.
Wait.
